


God Complex

by TheValkyries



Category: Andrew Hozier-Byrne (Musician)
Genre: Cussing, F/M, Fanfiction, Fluff, God Complex, Hozier, Love, NFWMB, NSFW, Smut, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:27:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23800012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheValkyries/pseuds/TheValkyries
Summary: Shannon O'Sullivan had never expected much out of her life. At the age of twelve, she was considered a great prodigy with her trusty cello by her side, and everyone in her life assumed that she'd be able to go great and far with the amount of knowledge she possessed about the instrument. However, teenage years get the better of us; and she, being too caught up in sex, drugs, and reckless rebellion finds that she has not only lost herself but has also lost the ability to understand what, exactly, she had wanted in life all along. Now, skip to her near thirties, and Shannon finds that nothing is different within the states. What happens when a young singer who creates art with the words that he sings finds himself seeking out the art within her and, ultimately, teaching her that the old gods are not dead. And that, he too, with all of his god-like qualities, has his own imperfections?
Relationships: Andrew Hozier-Byrne/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter One: Hozey-er

**Author's Note:**

> I, in no way shape or form, know, or am affiliated with Andrew Hozier-Byrne. This writing piece is just for creative purposes and for others to read it. All of the thoughts within this book are all thoughts that the CHARACTERS have, but I do not. Please keep that in mind while reading. All my love to you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shannon finds herself in a boring pub with a terrible company and an even worse pint of Guinness. So, she decides to call it a night and walk home. Alas, fate is a strange mistress, and it's on her walk home where she meets the tall tree giant known as Andrew Hozier-Byrne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so so much for deciding to read my story! I've had this idea for a long while now, and I'm so glad I'm finally getting the chance to write it down and make it real. In my own eyes, I envision Shannon as the gorgeous Lisa Lambe, but feel free to see her however you like, and remember to leave some love and feedback on what you liked or disliked!

The old gods are not dead.

Poseidon is still lingering within the depths of the salty oceans, protecting its inhabitants from the rancid toxins that destroy the ecosystems within its world of mystery. Dionysus makes himself known by protecting the women who find themselves alone at a bar, guarding their drinks and keeping their minds clear from the delicious manipulations that threaten to destroy the walls that they had worked so hard and long to build up around them. Even Athena finds herself living within the thousands of military troops; protecting them from the dangers that threaten their lives and fueling them with her vicarious light of logic and strategies.

But how, exactly, did I come to find this out? Well, I suppose it had started within the midst of one of the worst pubs – or bars, as Americans call them – within the city of Boston. 2018. It was there that this story starts; minutes before I meet the man who proved to me that the gods were not only still alive, but they were living, breathing people as well. Walking amongst the soil that the rest of us have forgotten we had once kissed before their feet. The gods showed themselves in many ways. And I had been lucky enough to see one of the purest of them.

I had come to the bar with a friend. It was certainly late, and I had never seemed to miss the comfort of my bed more than I was at that very moment. But she had simply _insisted_ that they served one of the best Guinness that could be found within the entirety of the city – and trust me, I had nearly tasted them all. Of course, I had known that it was nothing more than a mere bribe to get me to come out with her. For now, however, as I sat alone atop the uncomfortable leather couch and allowed my eyes to travel over towards said friend – Caroline – I couldn't help the slight shaking of my head at the sight of her already catching the gazes of at least three men just by taking a seat at the bar as she patiently waited for her third drink to be made. As if I hadn't done this entire situation to myself just by agreeing to come here with her.

It was natural, though, I suppose. She, an undeniably gorgeous woman who didn't look a day over her teenage years with nothing more than a simple hair-dying job done to her perfectly platinum blonde hair to show for it was bound to catch some eyes. Especially when she used her own assets to her advantage; casually tossing her locks of platinum over one shoulder and allowing the new scent of perfume that she had been sent as a brand deal to spread about on her social media to allure anyone in her proximity. Daring them to step up to the challenge. I, on the other hand, certainly only came here for the Guinness.

My own pint was already nearing the dreadful stage of titering on the edge between comfortable room-temperature and sickeningly warm as it rolled down my throat in the hearty sip that I took. We had only been here for barely half an hour, and yet I already wanted to leave. It was also painstakingly obvious that I shouldn't have worn this dress. For one, it certainly wasn't going to help the undeniable bloating that always seems to attack me worst whenever I wear skin-hugging clothing after a night out; and for another, the leather of the couch kept sticking uncomfortably against the exposed skin on the back of my legs. Undoubtedly turning them into a bright shade of rosy red by now as I took yet another sip of my drink and scrunched my nose. But whether or not the urge to leave was based around the urge to scramble away from the pub and scurry home, or the painful longing to return to where my home truly was located within Ireland, it was hard to tell. But, when the second crappy rendition of a terrible Shania Twain cover began to blare over the speakers that seemed to line every inch of the place, I made the easy decision to at least opt for the former of the two options.

Caroline had been too busy playing the staring game with the bartender to even feign as if she felt some sort of loss towards my departure – saying something along the lines of “ _have fun_ ” and “ _be safe_ ” along with the insistence of me greeting my roommate, Samara, and reminding her that she owed Caroline a proper ladies night in the near future. It was almost like some sort of strange between the two of us, I suppose. Caroline wanted someone photogenic to take pictures with her all dressed up and ready to go out within the city, and I wanted someone to give me the perfect excuse to claim that I was the adult I was futilely was pretending to be. An A-D-U-L- _get my shit together_ -T, adult. And, by the end of the night, she would get someone to warm her bed whilst I returned to the darkness of my apartment after forcing myself through at least twenty minutes of the outing before making up an excuse on why I needed to leave. We both got what we wanted out of it anyway, right?

Surprisingly enough, it wasn't too cold for a night within Boston's chilly October weather. At least, not cold enough for me to feel uncomfortable whilst walking along the sidewalk wearing only my heels and a simple dress that came just above my knees – purse clutched tightly with white-knuckled hands. I don't really know what struck me on that very night to avoid the mulling of taxis that drove throughout the nightlife of the city. But, even so, I still found myself beginning the slightly long trek that it took to get to the location of my apartment – eyes gazing outwards towards the people that passed me by as my brain attempting to connect random, outrageous stories to whatever they were doing. A couple walking hand-in-hand down the street? They were actually walking to meet the third person in their relationship for a good night of clubbing. A stray dog with meat in its mouth? It actually stole it from the vendor that kept yelling loud curse words down the street. Boston, in a way, was beautiful because of such details. And, for the most part, it was a very good looking city.

By this time, I had reached the Boston Commons – the large park within the city that I claimed as my own personal little safe haven from the rest of my own life and even my own apartment. For, every Friday at exactly five p.m., I was given the chance to do what I loved the most for exactly an hour: perform music in front of the eyes of strangers. Here, I would take my cello and set up a small stand for whatever charity I was paired with for the week. Then, I'd play until my hour was over; collecting as much money as possible from the passerby's with only my music and nothing more. At the end of it all, I'd take all the earnings – which, surprisingly enough, could sometimes end up in large piles depending on the weather and the generosity of the crowd – and give it all to the charity. I never received any kind of money out of it, but why would or should I care when it was something that I genuinely loved doing? After all, it was the only piece of home that I was able to bring with me apart from the bare necessities.

Turning around the street corner, I spotted my lovely little performance bench to the sound of a distant club remix of whatever song was considered most popular nowadays. It was the most perfect spot in the entire park. On one side, you're able to get a perfect view of the old-style brick buildings and architectural statement buildings of history and, on the other, you get the prime example of what a horizon cityscape looks like. Except, now, at this very moment, there was already someone there, standing atop the bench. My bench.

I certainly wasn't close enough to see the depth of his features, but he had his back turned to the view, phone held out in front of him with long, thin arms clad in a black collared shirt and a white undershirt. I could feel my pace faltering at the sight of him. My heels stuttering against the concrete underneath my feet. It seemed as if he was in full selfie mode, tilting his head from side to side and adjusting the angle of his camera, even managing a few funny faces every so often. Either he couldn't really get the angle right, or maybe he was just unhappy with his own photography skills, because he lowered the phone several times to look at the photos before, ultimately, trying again.

It would've taken a blind man to not notice just how tall the man in front of me truly was. Compared to my own petite height that just barely reached the five-foot mark, he almost seemed like a giant as he stood upon the surface of the seat of the bench. Which, I suppose wouldn't be the hardest thing to do with my own disadvantage towards my height, but it certainly was one of the first things I ever notice about people whenever I see them. Perhaps yet another animalistic instinct – what does this person have an advantage in, and how can I protect myself from becoming the weaker person with my own disadvantages?

Surprisingly, he didn't seem to have that characteristically accurate hunch that most giants have within the bones of their spine. Instead, his posture seemed to be uncomfortably rigid in a way that made him almost seem tense, but yet perfectly relaxed at the same time. In a strange sense, my first impulse was to shout at him that the park was closing in no more than five minutes. I mean, it was the truth. However, it would be easy to see how that wouldn't be an inviting first introduction though; especially when followed by a _get off my fucking bench_. So, instead, I clamped my mouth shut and forced my feet to begin moving closer.

The more feet I gained in the distance between us, the clearer it was to see that this man had an obvious reason for wanting to take so many pictures of himself. In the dimness of the dusk and the amber rays of the light posts at my sides, the image of an unruly mane of curly brown hair framing a face that was softened by laugh lines as its curls just barely reached the tops of his shoulders soon became more clear. And, it most certainly would have been a lie to say that he wasn't an obvious example of an attractive man. I felt like a vaguely recognized him, but then again, all guys going to any of the colleges nearby are attempting that ' _seductive and mysterious hipster_ ' vibe that seemed to duplicate from the image of the man in front of me. Even so, I allowed myself to get at least ten feet away, all too prepared to shoo him away so that I could have the bench all to myself before the park's closing hours when his eyes left the image of his phone to look straight at me.

The vague feeling of familiarity did not leave me, especially now that I was able to see the full view of his face. No matter how unruly and unkept his hair seemed to be, his face was the direct opposite of that description; with soft, gentle details that created a distinct contrast against the scruffiness of the light beard that dusted his chin, jaw, and the light stubble just above his upper lip. His facial features, however, morphed into a blank sheet of shock as he took in the sight of my small frame, and, more importantly, my eyes and the raised eyebrows above them as they caught him in the midst of his social injustices. Selfie taking.

I stared blankly at him, all words lost within my mess of a mind. I'd love to blame it on the Guinness, but it certainly took much more to get me drunk nowadays than just a single pint of it.

“Ehm.” With long, Bambi-like limbs, the man carefully maneuvered himself down from the bench. The obvious lilt of the accent that I grew up around plagued the deepness of his voice, consuming most of his vowels and morphing the consonants in such a way that certainly fanned the flame of homesickness that I had already been nurturing a long time before meeting him. To put it shortly, it certainly caught me off guard at the sound of it. Rewiring my brain into an entirely blank canvas as I gazed at him in the new light that he had given me just by speaking. “You saw all that, didn't you?”

After a moment of scrambling within my brain, I somehow manage to grasp a loose tendril of a response as I clear my throat and shrug as if it were the most casual thing in the world. “Well, it depends.” I could feel the slight furrowing of my own brows at the sound of my voice. It was the first time I hadn't forced it into doing that horribly fake American accent that I had been pressured into using from the very first moment I had stepped foot within the states. And now that I was hearing it, I almost felt like an entirely different person than the woman that had been in the pub. It was obviously blunted and dulled by the facade that I had been forced to play, but even so, it was still Irish, and most certainly took the man in front of me by surprise as I continued. “If I lied and said no, would it make you feel better?” From the very moment that had turned the corner, it had just barely taken me two minutes to reach where his spot was upon the bench, and he had kept up the entire mission of creating the perfect selfie the entire time. Sadly, I knew the pain of taking numerous amounts of failed selfies throughout the entirety of my own life along with the struggle it was to be friends with as big of a social media influencer that Caroline was. I couldn't help but feel just the slightest bit terrible for the man in front of me.

Slowly, though, my second-hand embarrassment morphs into a feeling of kindhearted humor as I watch the light shades of a blush begin to form from beneath his skin. Even in the darkness, it was evident to see the brilliant layers of scarlet that tinged his cheeks and the very tips of his ears that poked out as he tucked his mane of hair behind them. “Well, ehm, that settles it then. This is officially the most embarrassing thing I've ever done. I've done made a holy show of myself.” He hesitated for a singular second, chewing over his thoughts, before continuing. “Well, not ever done. But in a long time. Or at least since I landed in Boston. It's the most embarrassing thing I've done in Boston.”

Eyebrows still raised, the corners of my mouth twitch slightly, forming a ghost of a smile as I shift my weight within the uncomfortable heels that I had chosen for the night and tuck my purse closer to my chest. Underneath my fingertips, I could feel the faint sensation of the goosebumps that had risen against the light chill of the world around me. I paid them no mind. “How long, exactly, has it been since you arrived in Boston?”

He glances down at the phone in his hands. “It's nearing eleven, so I suppose that would make around five hours.”

Without my brain's consent, I find light bubbles of laughter spilling from my lips – my head slightly tilting backward against the surprise of it as my arms shake slightly. It wasn't the most admirable thing to laugh in the face of an embarrassed, yet godly handsome man as he stood in front of you with such an intense gaze that you could've sworn that he would have been able to burn holes into your skin. But, at the time, it had felt completely natural and light. And, it most certainly became worth it when he began to laugh along with me – morphing his body language into a more comfortable and stress-free form of himself within his own skin at the sound of it. Perhaps just because of the fact that it was a dreadfully obvious sign that I most certainly wasn't the kind of person to judge his actions. “Your secret is safe with me, mystery man. I was only slagging you.”

He furrowed his eyebrows at the sound of me calling him 'mystery man', but the look had passed just as soon as it had appeared as he watched my laughing spell sputter out in the air between us with a similar smile to my own; only perhaps just a bit brighter. His head tilted in what I had assumed to be an intent focus as he listened to the sound of my laugh as he used his thumb to press the power button on his phone before using his free hand to tap at his chin. In the amber light, I couldn't tell the color of his eyes – I only understood that they were very much aware of everything I seemed to be doing, no matter how small the action was. The air was calm and tension-free as much as the air between two strangers could be, but I suddenly felt as if I needed to stand straighter and make sure that my double chin wasn't exposing itself too much underneath his gaze.0

Clearing my throat, I force my eyes to dart away for the split second that I needed to regain my composure. “I could take it for you if you want?”

The man looked surprised at my offer, but then took a step forward. And then another. My eyes were unable to move away as they watch him gaze down at his phone hesitantly before holding out for me to take. “Would you? Ehm, I'm sure that's one of the most cheesy things a tourist could ask for, but my mother would absolutely adore it if I could get this picture right so I can send it to her afterward.”

“Well, it's practically a sin to say you've visited Boston without having someone else take a photo for you.” I took the phone from his hand in the most reassuring way possible, still sensing his hesitance. I barely glanced over the adorable lock-screen of the same man in front of me posing with a brilliant smile whilst trying to balance a dog – some sort of border collie mix – in one hand and a guitar in the other as I swipe open the camera. Smiling, I lift it so that I could see how I could possibly fit this giant of a man into the frame while making it look good enough to show his mother. (A man who's handsome, loves dogs, and still talks to his mother? What a keeper). I lower the phone after a few seconds, hesitantly biting my lip and meeting the strong gaze that was already watching me patiently. My own eyes narrowed in concentration. “I think if you stand behind the bench with your hands leaning on it, I should be able to get a good shot of both sides of the city behind you.”

“As the lady says.” Obediently, he strides over to where I directed him, giving me the perfect view to notice just how loose and gracefully his limbs moved as he did so. Once he reaches the spot, he raises a singular finger in a request for me to wait as he shakes his hair out so that it was no longer tucked behind his ears. Instead, it perfectly framed his face in the way that any lion's mane would. But it certainly suited him. In a one-hundred-percent non-creepy kind of way.

I raise the phone so that it's catching both the light of the streetlamps at my sides, watching as he gets into my directed pose before hovering my finger over the shutter. “Say cheese!”

The man didn't say cheese, but he turned his head to the left and smiled at the camera before his gaze flickered towards me and my small frame behind it. His smile became toothier; blossoming into a full-blown grin. Even so, it still looked perfectly touristy, and certainly looked good enough to send to a mother who was interested in anything along the likes of the photo that I was taking. Perhaps even social-media worthy, if he didn't mind the tourist look.

I held the red button for a burst of photos before lowering the phone. “Okay, all done. Wanna see? You can judge me all you want for my absolutely brutal photography skills.”

He was by my side in a couple of strides – forcing a flash of jealousy to flutter through my veins as I looked down at my own short legs in comparison. We hadn't truly been this close to each other yet, so now that we were, it was getting more and more obvious to see that I truly did have a disadvantage towards him. After all, my head just barely reached the bottom of his chest. Even his hands were large. But they, like the rest of him, exceeded nothing but gentle energy as he carefully took the phone from my hands and began flicking through the photos. It reminded me of what one would do with a porcelain doll.

“You, somehow, actually made me not seem like some kind of moran for once.” His accent was thick as he smiled down at the phone, before turning it off entirely; watching as the screen fades to black with a loud and satisfying _click_. “And you managed to get the statues as well. I'd say you did quite a good job.”

I looked down against the feeling of his gaze, untangling my arms from across my chest as I carefully tuck a strand of red hair behind my ear and dip my head timidly. “I didn't have to do much work at all to get the picture to look good. You're giving the photographer much too much credit.”

As the silence grew, I had come to realize that I didn't have much else to say to the man in front of me after my original plan of shooing him off didn't exactly come out as a well-accomplished mission. Instead, our small interaction had come to an end, and even though I had found myself longing for the retreat of my apartment earlier in the night, I had come to realize that I no longer wanted anything to do with the place for the moment if it meant that I still had to deal with the company of a group of people that Samara undoubtedly had over like she normally does on nights such as these. Besides, I'm almost certain that a Boston tourist had other things to do than to embarrass himself further in front of a woman that had randomly appeared and offered to take his picture for him. That was, of course, if he hadn't noticed my obvious staring before I had even walked closer to him.

“Well-”

“Hey-” He started at the same time, but stopped, shaking his head. “You first.”

I chuckled at the awkwardness that both of us were allowing to consume us, shifting again within my heels in an attempt to lessen the weight that I was forcing unto them. “No, go ahead.”

“Ehm. Well, I was going to ask...” His eyes narrowed as he scratched the back of his head and surveyed me once more. This time, though, he seemed to fully take in the appearance of my clothes and just how much they certainly didn't resemble the kind of state someone who wanted to take a stroll in the park would wear; lingering all too long on the obvious discomfort that was producing from my heels. Next, his eyes didn't hesitate to travel to the street behind me where I had just appeared from, eyebrows furrowing once more at the confirmation that I was, indeed, alone. “I was wondering if you knew any good places to eat dinner around here since I've been wandering aimlessly and I'm absolutely starved.”

Tearing my arms away from where they were clasped across my chest, I took that moment to glance down at the watch on my wrist – adjusting the hair-ties around it so that I could get a better view of the face. It was officially eleven, meaning that the park was meant to be closing down now and as would most restaurants. The Guinness was still settling richly within my stomach, but the small sandwich that I had for lunch hadn't lasted me long. Just thinking about food made the terribly ugly beast resting within my stomach rear its ugly, growling head.

“Hm,” I muttered, lowering my wrist and pondering the thought over my head for a few minutes. “I'm not quite sure what you'd like, but if you're up for a walk, the Quincy Market isn't too far from here and has at least fifty different options of different kinds of food vendors if you're interested. I'm sure they have vegan or vegetarian options as well, if that's what you're worried about in any way.”

“You had me at fifty different options. How is that even possible?”

“It's certainly my own picture of heaven on earth.” I forced a flush away from my cheeks at the sound of my own keenness towards the place. For I didn't want to make it seem as though I were inviting myself along to his dinner, especially considering the awkward circumstances where he, in all his glory, was certainly dressed for comfort whilst I – in my shoulderless black dress and heeled shoes – seemed to be the exact picture of a teen who couldn't make up her mind on what club she wanted to go to; just without the heavy makeup and mussed up hair. Besides, I could go visit that meat vendor I had seen earlier or the taco truck nearby if he truly did want to eat alone.

“He glanced down at the street behind me once more. “Were you headed somewhere with someone? I'd hate to impose, but I thought it would be grand if I could perhaps buy you a late dinner in thanks for being my photographer.” His eyes trailed down towards my exposed shoulders, prickled with goosebumps, before hurriedly darting away. “That's certainly if you want to, that is. I'm not forcing you. If you're against the idea, let me at least walk you to wherever you need to be so that I don't feel guilty about leaving you all alone in the middle of a dark park-” He cut himself off, running silent.

My heart, which I had forced to remain calm the entirety of our meeting, had started racing against my head's insistence of peace. He _did_ want to go to dinner with me! It would be nice to have some company that wasn't obsessed with the idea of updating social media and attracting as many guys as possible for once. Not that I was going to let him pay. It was a sweet gesture, but I strongly believed in always paying for my own food, especially if I was with a guy. Having a guy pay for my food always made me feel like I had some sort of excuse to be belittled or blackmailed. Not that I got any kind of vibe similar to such from the man in front of me, but I certainly did not want to take any chances.

“You don't have to force me, mystery man. I'd gladly accompany you.” I smiled brightly, stomach already light and craving the delicious pasta that had become a favorite of mine from the Greek restaurant located within the market after visiting it so many times during my lunch breaks. It was how it had come to mind so easily in the first place. “I'll pay for my own food, though,” I added as an afterthought.

The man crinkles his eyes at me, still holding that shroud of mystery within their color. Politely, he stood up straighter, making me believe that if he got any taller he certainly would have been able to touch the moon if he ever wanted to.

“Sounds like a deal...” His face dropped altogether. “Fuck. I forgot to ask for your name, didn't I? Let's add that to the list of embarrassing things I've done while in Boston: _asking someone out for dinner without asking for their name first_.”

I held out my free hand to him, hair-tie and all. “Shannon. Shannon O'Sullivan.”

“River Shannon.” He took my hand and shook it, twice. Even though his touch was light, it was surprising to feel the obvious hints of callousing that were riddled amongst the tips of his fingerpads as they grazed over the skin of my hand. Humor danced in his eyes as he pointed out the obvious origin of where I had gotten my name from: the longest river in Ireland. “That's a lovely name. I'm Andrew Hozier-Byrne. Where to, then?”


	2. Chapter Two: Pasta and Shepherd's Pie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shannon and Andrew share a moment within Quincy Hall. Andrew, however, loses his virginity to shepherd's pie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! I hope you enjoy this chapter! A few things first, though. One, I've only ever been to Boston once in my entire life, and even though I have been to Quincy Hall once, I'm bound to get some mistakes throughout the entirety of this story even with my research. I try my best to fit good detail within these chapters, and I hope it pays off well and leaves you feeling like you've been there. Boston is truly a beautiful city! Almost as beautiful as you. Two, however unprofessional it may seem, I don't edit these chapters. I tend to write until five in the morning, so I'm dreadfully trying to keep myself sane by not doing so. I'd hate for you to not like this story because of any typos, but please overlook them if you can. Please remember to leave some love and some feedback if you enjoyed it!

“So what is a tall, lanky Irish man like you, Andrew, doing in such a city as Boston?”

The park had been long deserted at our backs as we strode down the cement street side-by-side. Graciously enough, my newfound acquaintance had taken little to no time in hastily pressing his button-up-shirt into my arms now that he actually had an up-close view of just how terribly goosebump-riddled my skin was. At first, I had politely declined, insisting that I was a natural at resisting the city's relentless temperament and indecisiveness. But, the longer we walked away from the glowing warmth of stores and restaurants as we headed deeper into the more touristy section of the city, the less resistance I held within me to avoid the warmth that the fabric would provide me that this thin dress did not. So, by the fifth time that he had offered, I couldn't help but quickly swipe at the button-up with nothing but a sheepish blush and a quiet thank you as I stuffed my arms through its sleeves.

Andrew placed his hands within the pockets of his jeans, now adorning nothing but the plain white undershirt on his upper body but seemingly unfazed by the chill air upon his arms as he walked. He seemed to hesitate at my question as if he were attempting to decide what kind of answer he wanted to put out.

So far, we were ten minutes into the sixteen-minute walk that it took to get to Quincy Market. But, through the entirety of it all, I've noticed just how much it seemed as though the man at my side constantly had a tsunami of thoughts running through his head – always pondering and never truly being able to say everything that was swirling within his head. Perhaps it was too much to say at once, or maybe simply not my business. But it truly was a sight to see; like a breath of fresh air from the normal, mindless drones that you tended to fine within this brick city.

“Well, I'm not here to stay,” He began, politely maneuvering away from a couple that was headed in his direction that was too busy making out to even notice his presence on the street. Those kinds of people were worse than the ones who think that texting and walking is a smart idea, but to each their own I suppose. But, with the obstacle now gone, he glanced down at me with a humorous twitch of his lips at my facial expression. “I'm here for my job, and I'm only supposed to stay until tomorrow before I'm off to Washington D.C.”

I couldn't help it. My mouth seemed to just move on its own as it parted in surprise, however much I wanted to appear as the random stranger who could care less about this man's personal life. In truth, the reality of this situation was that the two of us would never see each other again. So why should I be the kind of person to pry into his life anyway?

But, just like the cat that got itself killed out of curiosity, I just couldn't seem to know or understand where my own limit should be. “What do you do? Are you a part of the circus that just rolled into town?” My curiosity was disguised with false humor as I asked this.

He smirked. A light chuckle rising from his chest. “Something like that.” A moment's silence rested between us as he gazed out at the street before us. Thankfully, there weren't a great number of people scattered about the city streets at this hour; aside from the expected drunkards looking for a good time and groups of friends that were simply seeking the perfect places to make good memories. Strangely enough, I felt a lingering pang of guilt strike within my body at the fact that the sights and sounds that surrounded us seemed to give me a strange sense of being at home. Even though this city certainly wasn't anything compared to the true feeling of what home had once been for me. However, I'm quickly drawn out of my train of thought by Andrew's all-seeing eyes as they burn into my temple in a quick change of subject. “Ehm, I meant to ask earlier, but where's your accent from? It sounds so familiar, but I can't quite place my finger on it.”

“Take a guess.” I adjust the fabric of the button-up shirt along my shoulders, unsurprised to find its sleeves running far past the tips of my fingers in comparison with Andrew's long limbs to my own all-too-average ones. Where he resembled that of a man who had just stepped out of a forest as one with the trees and wind as it blew through his head of hair in preparation with the cryptic prophecy he was preparing to declare, reality instead declared itself a cruel mistress; for there were rare trees to be found within the brick city, and the wind was far too busy fooling with the scattering of leaves quite a distance away to even pay notice towards the man at my side. Even the fabric that I had been allowed to borrow against the cold smelled richly of earthy, clean, and muted scents. Old paper, mint, and just the faintest memory of honeysuckle dancing within my nostrils as the fabric shifted upon my skin. “Here, I'll help you out by saying the most Irish phrase I can possibly think of –“ I clear my throat dramatically. “ – _I've had an absolute whale of a time, but I'm completely knackered at this point and can't find any of my Guinness to keep the energy goin'_.”

The sound of his loud laughter filled the air. It was a noticeably boisterous sound at first, coming from deep within his chest and stomach but tending to dim into a light bubble of a chuckle depending on the circumstance. He carefully tore his eyes away from the side of my face to look down at the scuffed up toes of his boots as we walked. I had taken note of the fact that he had taken great care in making sure that his admirably large stride was slowed in order to match my own patient pace that my significantly shorter legs could handle, and it certainly was something to be thankful for in consideration of my heels.

“Dublin?” He questions, tilting his head in curiosity and raising an eyebrow.

“Not a chance in hell, Andrew.” Without needing any kind of confirmation, it was almost a clear sign to see that the man in front of me certainly had to be from the large city he had just named so casually. For even though his accent certainly seemed to be the tamed version of the city's dialect, it was still audibly noticeable within the way his deep voice morphed the words he thought so carefully before speaking them.

“Limerick?”

“You're headed in the right direction, but no.”

“Waterford?”

“Close, but still a hard no.”

“It can't be...” Andrew shook his head, pushing a stray curl away from his line of sight as he thinks over his next guess. Just by his tone of voice, I can already tell that he certainly had the answer within his mind, and I couldn't blame his reaction towards it. My accent, ruined by the terribly fake American one that I had forced it into becoming within the presence of other fellow Americans, seemingly resembled nothing of my hometown. The lingering traces of it still remained within certain words, especially now that I was finally allowing it to have free reign and control my speech since I could speak freely in front of Andrew and his own thick accent that belonged to the true location of my home. But it still wasn't the same, and I would forever regret brutally destroying it in the way that I did. “Are you from Cork?”

“Cobh, actually. But I'll give it to you since they're very close.” By now, the large stone building was just beginning to come into view with all of its large, columned glory. It was a sight that I had already grown accustomed to seeing, but through the eyes of someone who had yet to walk in my own shoes as a frequent visitor, the sight itself would certainly be a strange kind of marvel to see. With bright, golden letters hung neatly above its entrance that read 'Quincy Market'; it was hard to miss such a classic sight – as if it were torn straight from the pages of history and placed right in the middle of the carefully bricked street.

Compared to the normally bright days that these streets normally saw, the bricks were baren and deserted from its normal influx of visitors which undoubtedly consisted mostly of tourists. The gorgeous bubbled light posts were beaming brightly as if welcoming us warmly into the open doors of the market that waited within as we made our way towards the beginning of the stairs that led towards it.

Andrew hesitated, chuckling up at the American flag that hung fluidly above our heads. “You'd think that we would forget which country we're in if they didn't have all of these hangin' around, right?” The corners of his eyes crinkled slightly as he looked back down to meet my eyes. He almost seemed embarrassed. But, perhaps not quite there yet. “I can't tell you how many of these I see on a day to day basis now that I'm in the states. It feels almost like a fever dream.”

“Well, coming from someone who actually lives here, let's just say that it's certainly not something you can get used to in a day or two.” Casually, I use my shoulder to bump his arm – which normally would have been his shoulder if not for the fact that I was terribly lacking in the height department to be able to reach it. With that, I began the trek up the four steps that led towards the entrance, knowing without seeing that Andrew certainly wasn't far behind as I led the way into the large market with nothing more than that delicious pasta on my mind.

Almost immediately, the scents that I had been admiring within the lingering remains of the button-up were quickly washed away by the large storm of aromas that claimed our noses upon entering. It was strange, to say the least, the way that these small restaurant stalls were set up when it came to smell. In order, to our right, were food stations such as _Legal Fish Bowl_ , _Doghouse_ , _West End Strollers_ , _Boston & Maine Fish Company_, and much, much more. But, directly across from these, were also food locations like _Magnolia Bakers_ , _Kilvert & Forbes Bakeshop_, _The Monkey Bar_ , and much more sweet-like shops that certainly didn't clash well with the scents of fish and meat. It was dangerously close to being overwhelming if it weren't for the fact that it was set up so conveniently – a narrow strip of a walkway perfect for perusing and glancing quickly over menus while watching people cook the food they offered in attempts to win you over – for people such as us with eyes that were most certainly much bigger than our stomachs.

“Wow,” The man at my side breathed, the exact example of surprise that I'm sure that I had looked like when I had first viewed the place. Quincy Hall was most certainly a prime picture of liveliness that thrived within this city. Especially when it offered live music and public acts of power such as protests with flyers or public speakers that attempted to get their message heard by at least a few passing souls. Now, however, as the clock ticked later into the night, it was barely a mere hum of what it was during the hours of the day. Albeit, still a perfect view to behold with a grumbling tummy.

“Heaven, right?” I asked, tearing my eyes away from the sign that read Greek Steve's Cuisine in order to stop the outrageous images of the perfect pasta just begging to be devoured in the next few minutes. Instead, I focused on his long eyelashes as they fluttered to and fro; his eyes obviously trying to soak everything up as quickly as possible. “A bit overwhelming for a newcomer, but I'm sure you'll find at least something that sounds edible.”

Andrew nodded his head, swallowing hard and removing his hands from his pockets. “Ehm, I suppose it would be best if we split up, correct? That way we can get what we want and meet up somewhere.”

“Sounds like a plan. If you keep walking straight, you'll stumble upon the open hall with all the dining areas. We can meet up there once we're all set with our food, alright?”

It took me a mere few seconds to make my way to Greek Steve's, even in the uncomfortable pain that my heels provided me. Andrew, long forgotten in my mind as I waited patiently for the cashier behind the register to be able to tear their attention away from the phone within their hands in order to ring up my order. Surprisingly enough, the person behind the counter wasn't the familiar, smiley-faced old man that I had gotten so accustomed to being greeted by every time I decided to give myself a gift by coming here during my lunch break after an exceedingly long workday. He always called me sweetheart and peach in his heavily laced accent, insisting that I take a free cookie along with my meal because I was “looking too thin”. But, I suppose that he, too, had a life to live and certainly didn't spend his entire day within the strip of food stalls that Quincy provided.

Suffering through the weird looks that I was receiving from the teenager behind the counter – undoubtedly due to the strange disarray of my appearance with my dress and button-up duo – I only find myself at true peace once the plastic container of food is placed within my hand. The exact amount for the cost was almost like a strange mantra playing through my head based on pure memory alone as I dug through my purse before placing the money within the female's hand and even managing to give her a polite smile while doing so. It's the little things that are important, I guess. Even if she simply gave me yet another one of her weird looks before mumbling a halfhearted have a nice night and returning to whatever social media page seemed to be reflected in her glasses as she looked down at her phone. Fortunately, the distraction gave me the perfect advantage to swipe an extra fork without being spotted. I almost had the urge to stick out my tongue like a little kid at the girl in the process. Thankfully, I, a nearly 25 year-old-lady, restrained myself from sticking my tongue out at a teenager I didn't even know.

The rest of the food stalls were vacant as I passed them by in order to make my way towards the dining hall. But, upon entering it, it was almost impossible to not spot Andrew's towering frame as he balances a container of food with a fork placed on top in one hand, and the familiar iPhone that he made look like a mere tiny brick in the other. He was leaned up against a large column that held up the second level to the hall as if it were his second home – boots crossed at the toes as his eyes darted across the screen with intense focus. At that moment, it was hard not to be reminded of the terribly hilarious Douglas Adams paragraph where he described one of his characters: _If you took a couple of David Bowies and stuck one of the David Bowies on top of the other David Bowie, then attached another David Bowie to the end of each of the arms of the upper of the first two David Bowies . . ._

_He was tall and he gangled._

As if he could feel my eyes on him, Andrew glances upwards blankly before doing a double-take. His lips, as if controlled by a force of some other, find themselves parting into a toothy grin as he raises his container in greeting. Watching with a careful gaze as I neared. “This place is absolutely brilliant.”

I raised my own container in greeting as I finally found myself in front of him, signaling with my head towards a nearby table for two that say just beneath the lights that dangled from the circular space above that exposed the domed roofing. Above us, within the circle of the second story above, read the golden-colored words ' _This building has served the people of Boston as the central marketplace since its dedication in August, 1826_ '. It was a beautifully created building made out of mainly brick, but with a granite and glass ceiling just above our heads. It was certainly strange to see the different styles of architecture come together, but much more of a shock when you actually find yourself seeming to become infatuated with the place. It grew on you. Quickly, might I add.

“What won you over?” I questioned with a grin, setting my purse at my feet and pasta down upon the wooden table. I couldn't help but watch him as he maneuvers his long limbs carefully underneath the surface of the table before even considering sitting down onto the chair behind him. Admittedly nosy, I find myself peeking at the meal that was still contained in one of his hands, a singular eyebrow twitching upwards. “Was it the architecture or the...shepherd's pie?”

He laughs heartily, adjusting his legs underneath the table. I could tell that he was trying his best to not take up all the space, but the table was small and even though they were tented as much as possible I could still feel the tips of his knees on either side of my legs. “I didn't think that I was going to come here and get judged for my food choices. Besides, I've never had one before and I've heard nothing but good things about it.” He paused for a moment, glancing down at the container that it came in. “Besides, how could I resist... _Boston Kitchen_?” He reads the name of the restaurant as if it were a question, earning a genuine laugh from me in response as I open up my own meal and smile down at it warmly. Greeting the steam as it rises to my nose.

In a quick, mindless decision, I pluck the extra fork that I had picked up in the midst of my super-secret spy mission at the Greek food stall and hastily stab a piece of shrimp that sat upon the pasta before twirling a few noodles around it. I could feel his gaze watching my actions as I hold the fork up and grin, tilting my head. “Well, before you pop your shepherd's pie virginity, I'd feel honored if you had the first bite of this heavenly pasta that you're going to be missing out on. You're not allergic to shrimp, are you?”

The look on his face could best be described as a kid who just got told that he was granted an infinite amount of wishes from a genie as he connected the dots between the fork I held out in the air between us and my mischievous grin. With gentle fingers, he nudges his container of food so that it was enough out of the way of his path so that he could be able to lean closer towards the fork and wrap his lips around the food that I offered.

His eyes are green. Why didn't I notice that before? It almost seemed blatantly obvious to me now as he looks up from where he was still scooping up the food from the fork within his mouth – his heated breaths coming out in little puffs of air across the tops of my fingers from his nose. My face most certainly was a shade of tomato red by now. I certainly hadn't expected him to eat it with the fork still in my hand, and at the sight of the dusting of blush across his cheeks, I could tell that he, too, was surprised by his own actions as he jolted backward. However, with the sudden rush of action, he ends up taking the entire fork with him as well. Yanking it completely out of my grip so that it stuck pointedly out of his mouth as he leans back against his chair and scrunches his nose. It was lucky that he hadn't choked on the food altogether. For he reacted as if I had electrocuted him with just the simple action due to how rigid and tense his posture was. Even those green eyes dared not touch my presence as they looked at everything else in the room but me. Which genuinely wasn't much, considering we were one of the only people here.

Five seconds exactly. That's precisely the amount of time that both the silence and my own blush lasted before I forced myself to snap out of it, hesitantly shrugging off the button-up and hanging it on the back of the chair in fear of getting food on it. “So, I'm taking that as a no to being allergic to shrimp, then?”

The smile was small this time. An embarrassed, almost nonexistent action that was hidden beneath the dusting of his hair on his upper lip and jaw. Hesitantly, as if remembering that it was still there in the first place, he removes the fork from his mouth and places it on a napkin that he had brought with him along with his food. Completely clean of the pasta that he had now chewed and swallowed completely with a heavy throat. “That's a _definite_ no.”

It wasn't as cold in here as it was in the world outside, allowing me the comfort of stretching out my exposed shoulders and the slight sliver of my back that the dress showed as I stretched out against the chair and took a bite of the pasta. As expected, it was absolutely heavenly and everything that I needed to heal my stomach from the terrible warmth that the fake Guinness had provided. I didn't bother buying a drink along with my meal, knowing that it would only make me feel more nauseous than anything else after the terrible feeling that the alcohol had left behind. Andrew, however, took a deep drink of the rootbeer he had ordered; the smell wafting all the way over to my side of the table due to its open lid.

“I never asked you what you did, Shannon,” He commented, cheeks still lightly dusted with the slightest hint of scarlet as he attempted to keep his hair back and away from the food in front of him as he opened the container. I could feel my heart practically drop to my stomach at the question. But, even so, I forced a mild smile to my lips as I carefully placed the fork down and tugged at the hair tie on my wrist, handing it over to ease his battle with the unruly curls of hair that continued to make their way into his face and food. An olive branch, of sorts.

It was strange how much I depended on what kind of opinion a stranger such as Andrew held on me. I mean, yes, of course, he was a gorgeous god of a man that was seated across from me as if it were nothing with limbs like the branches of a willow tree and curled hair now tied adorably in a tiny bun behind his head as he finally plucked his fork up and attempted to neatly cut a sliver from the shepherd's pie. But would it matter if this was a one-time thing? I mean, who cares if he thinks wrongly of me it I come out and say: _well, about that Andrew, I work as a maid in a hotel just down the road but don't worry I'm also about to lose my second job working night shifts at this crappy bar because I have no other way to pay my bills_. For it was nothing less than the truth. And what else would he want than that?

“Well, I came to the states because I had managed a job playing the cello with this band who thought they had scored a record deal here,” I begin, casually biting another sliver of my pasta and allowing my teeth to slowly chew the food as I chewed through my thoughts hesitantly. What would be considered _too_ much to say, after all? “That fell apart though, and I had no other way of getting back to Ireland so I kinda just lurked here. It's been about two years and I'm currently working at a hotel down the road and some night shifts tending a bar quite a bit away from here.”

I kept my eyes glued to the pasta as I took yet another bite. It wasn't as if I were embarrassed about my story. Actually, quite the contrary. I was pretty proud of myself for being able to work so hard to get what I needed to survive within the city. I had managed to befriend Samara, my roommate, by meeting her online on an extremely sketchy website and had somehow managed to strike lucky with her. Together, we manage to pay rent and somehow created a friendship even with our strange daily routines. She tends to stay home with our cat, Mori, smoking pot with her girlfriend and blog group, discussing ways to revolutionize the world while I tend to get way too involved with the busy structure of work. But, explaining it to someone who certainly had to have a bank full of money to be able to go from state to state so freely? It felt almost...belittling.

But, instead of the expected response, I was instead met with, “You play the cello?”

Furrowing my brows, I look up from the hole I was burning in my pasta in order to gaze at Andrew as he takes the first bite of his pie. Almost immediately, his face contorts into a brilliant form of ecstasy as he nods his head and shovels another bite into his mouth. His eyes, however, are still gazing at me expectantly.

“Yeah, I do,” I said sheepishly. Twirling my fork. “Not as much anymore, but I had a scholarship at CIT Cork School of Music. I dropped out soon after to perform with the band.”

“That's ballsy,” Andrew commented, eyebrows raised. Before smiling. “I wish I had that much confidence with my passions.”

“Who knows, maybe I'll rub off on you.”

The night ticked by, and it didn't take long for both our plates to be clean of food and our bodies to quickly make it to the curb directly outside of the entrance of Quincy Market. The conversation was smooth and alluring, spare for the few hiccups here and there where one of us would embarrass the other unknowingly, or perhaps even on purpose just to see their reaction. Even so, it was still a brilliant night that I hadn't ever expected to come out of a random bar night with Caroline.

It had gotten significantly colder, yet the man paid no mind to it as he coaxed me into setting down my bag before holding out his button-up to step into. “Is your apartment nearby? I can walk you, just to make sure you get there safely.”

Once the fabric was secured over my skin, I turned around to look at him. His eyes were soft, gentle, and kind at the sound of his offer. The corner of his lip was raw from being bitten just the slightest bit too much at his own pensive thoughts. “I'll probably just get a taxi. It's too much out of the way, and I'd hate to bother you any more than I already have.”

There was no hesitation as Andrew shook his head, taking a step closer so that he could reach down and grab the bag that was still placed on the floor by my feet. He offered it to me. “You weren't a bother at all. It was lovely to have someone show me around the smallest bit of Boston. I've never had the time to look at a city in this way.” He paused, eyes darting away from me. He had the same look of hesitance on his face that always seemed to plague him – his tsunami of thoughts rearing against his head before he finally met my eyes once more. “If I find myself back in Boston, it would be great to meet up again, and maybe you could take me on a proper tour?” Another pause. “Ehm, I'd just need a way to contact you... _god I haven't done this in a long time, I'm so so sorry._ ” This last part was hastily said underneath the disguise of a sigh, but still audible nonetheless.

Unable to help it, I laugh. Not at him, but at the utterly unbelievable chance of it. This entire situation I had found myself in with him seemed to be completely unrealistic. And yet, here we were. Me, somehow managing to make this godly man stutter and blush and act like a highschooler again asking for a girl's number. How is this possible? Maybe it wasn't. Perhaps I'll just wake up in the morning only to find out that the Guinness had actually been roofied and I was just hallucinating it all.

Even so, I hold out my hand expectantly, watching with narrowed eyes as he places his phone into my palm. “Well, my phone is currently shut off. But, I'll give you my number and my email. It's old school, I know, but shoot me an email whenever you want and I'll respond as your faithful Boston stranger.”

Andrew grinned, bright and heavenly as he took his phone back once I had finished putting my information into it. “That sounds perfect.”

With that, the night was over. Like the gentleman I had expected him to be, he refused to leave my side until I had found and was within a taxi. And, even then, he refused to leave his spot on the curb until the taxi itself had disappeared out of sight. It wasn't until I found myself outside of my apartment door did I realize that he had purposely made me keep his button-up. And it was in my bedroom where I found the fifty-dollar bill within its pocket with a tiny note saying ' _thank you for dinner, River Shannon :-)_ '.


End file.
